


Revolution 2200

by cwnorth



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Tragedy, Artist Grantaire, Battle, Doomed Relationship, Drunk Grantaire, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, Eventual Enjolras/Grantaire, F/M, M/M, Modern Retelling, Oblivious Enjolras, Pining Enjolras, Pining Grantaire, Poor Grantaire, Retelling, Revolution, Sad Grantaire, Tragedy, Tragic Romance, War, angsty exr, exr - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 15:11:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11443473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cwnorth/pseuds/cwnorth
Summary: When Enjolras arrives in New York City, he has one main goal: to start the greatest war the world has ever known. His hatred of modern government leads him to overthrow the powers that corrupt their country, bringing down anyone who stands in his way. When he meets the boys of the ABC, his initial intentions are to rally them to help in the cause. However, his passion for battle leads him to destroy the relationships that could have brought them to victory.Inspired by Les Miserables, this is a re-imagined story of the boys of the ABC and their ultimately tragic ends.





	1. Prologue

No one wants to remember Revolution 2200. It was a bloody, impudent battle. Those who rebelled against the government were merely boys, young men of the universities, middle class, who, although they knew well enough how to shoot a gun, did not understand the cause they were fighting for. So it has seemed throughout many of our world’s wars, but none were so short lived as this revolution. The streets of New York were torn to shreds, rain water running through the gutters thick with blood. And when the time came to battle the authorities, the people did not stir. Those young students were killed in an onslaught that rivaled any other; over in an instant.  Perhaps that’s why many people don’t even remember it; too many choose to forget it. The hype of war was built up for months, and then the war itself lasted but a minute. And every boy was forgotten. 

  But not everyone forgot them. 

  I did not forget; which is why I chose to write this down. To share what I remember, so that in my own way, those young men may not be forgotten. Their lives were precious, though they themselves chose to see it as naught. What a waste sacrifice can seem. 


	2. Week 44, Day 304 of the Year 2199

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to believe Enjolras is his last name, so I gave him a first name, for the sake of my fic. But it will not be used very often. The boys of the ABC often call each other by their surnames.

He had nowhere to go.

This was not unusual. Most of his life had been spent going from one place to the next, so by now he was rather used to it. He wasn’t unloved, as you might be thinking. No, he had a generous family who wanted the best for him. Unfortunately, their “best” was not _his_ idea of what was best. As it was said, “for good ideas and true innovation, you need human interaction, conflict, argument, debate.” He believed this with a passion, and since his parents did not accept this or try to understand it, he left, for people fear what they do not understand.

But Nicolas Enjolras was not afraid.

He wasn’t a foster child, he wasn’t homeless. He was his own being, free from control, impossible to define. Only fourteen when he first left home, he wandered anywhere and everywhere, trying to find a place that didn’t stifle his vast intelligence and incredible desire to change the world. But the world would not let him, for it fears change. Like Nicolas’ parents, it fears what it cannot understand.

No school would accept him. Every group and every gang that he met on the street abused him.  Every shelter he stayed at mocked his decision to ever leave home in the first place. And with every person that turned him away, every door that shut in his face, his heart turned a little bit colder.

And by the time you turn the page to start this story, he will have no heart left at all.

 

 

“Where did you say you were from?”

“The west coast.”

“Where specifically?”

“Oregon.”

“Ah, the great frontier!”

Nicolas Enjolras did not smile.

“Ah, yes, so it seems everything is in order. Your application has been accepted and approved, and I might add you passed with flying colors. Your Fast Pass test scores are incredible! Where did you go to high school?”

“I was home-schooled.”

The woman barely batted an eyelash. “Well, your parents did a marvelous job of teaching you.”

Nic didn’t even flinch. A further silence ensued before the woman proceeded with, “It appears that you have been awarded a scholarship, although it does not cover your full tuition for the year. You will have to pay the remainder or take out student loans.”

“I won’t do loans, thank you. I don’t believe in being a financial slave to the government.”

The woman behind the desk – her name tag read “Cheryl” – let out a nervous laugh and began fiddling with the papers on her desk. “Ah yes, well, that is your choice of course. Tuition is forty-six thousand. If we minus your scholarships earned, a total of thirty thousand, that leaves you with sixteen thousand to pay. Now this does not include housing expenses which would be another twenty thousand. Do you want me to add that?”

“No, thank you. I won’t be staying on campus.”

“Alright, that’s just fine. Then just sixteen thousand for the first year. Will you be paying this at a later date, in installments, all at once now?”

“Installments.”

“Alright, they will be due the beginning of each semester, and we will just go ahead and divide sixteen by four and that means…” she clicked away on her keyboard at lightning speed. “Four thousand will be your first payment. Would you like to wait and pay it on the deadline, two weeks into the term?”

“No, I’ll pay it now,” and with that Nicolas pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket, and slapped four grand down on the counter between them.

Needless to say the woman was shocked, and slightly horrified. “Uh, cash. I see, ummmmm, perhaps you would rather write a check?”

“I don’t have a checking account.”

“Well, perhaps you should get one. They’re rather helpful. Carrying around so much cash is a bit…dangerous.” Cash had been in low circulation the past 100 years and anyone who had _this_ much on them was immediately regarded with suspicion. 

Nicolas didn’t need her to say anything more to read between the lines. “I’ll pay on the deadline, with a check, later.”

“Sounds wonderful." Cheryl tried to regain her composure. “Let's get you logged in with a student ID number, and we’ll sign you up for classes and you’ll be good to go!”

After another hour of deciding upon classes, schedule and books in hand, Enjolras was done.

“Congratulations!” Cheryl beamed. “You are now an enrolled Political and Foreign Relations undergrad! Welcome to the New York School of Art, Business, and Culture. You are an official student of the ABC!”

 

 

 

It wasn’t a miracle that he made it into one of the top schools in New York City. He was smart enough, his test scores proved that, and when he ran away he wasn’t dumb enough to forget things like a social security number. He knew proof of legal residence was a necessity. Rather what surprised him was how normal he felt. He had his books in hand, walking around campus, and no one paid him any mind. They didn’t know what his background was or where he came from, and they didn’t care either. It was part relief and part indifference for Nicolas. Maybe this is what fitting in felt like; what belonging somewhere felt like.

The first two weeks were grueling, not academically, rather emotionally. He hadn’t found a place to stay, so he continued to do as he had done for all the years before. He slept on doorsteps, and in alleyways, in churches and on park benches. New York was terribly cold, and having travelled all his life, packing light had been a habit. Now however, with plans to stay in one location, a place to stay and own belongings was something he had never taken into consideration. That meant building a life, and that was a dangerous, sentimental thing to do. He didn’t need that.

But a bed and a roof would be splendid, now that he thought about it. He didn't have to become attached to stay warm and dry.

On campus he studied alone on the green, under the same tree every day. He sat alone at lunch, and in the back during classes. His intent was to remain as inconspicuous and unsociable as possible. Unfortunately, it was working. No one bothered to talk to him, and he never bothered to speak to anyone else. His cash was quickly dwindling, as much as he tried to pinch every penny, he had to eat, and buy supplies as hard as he fought against it. Tuition was due in two days, and he needed to find a place to stay, which would cost rent. And of course there was the problem of where to put all his stuff, as his backpack was getting heavier and heavier by the day.

That night was a colder one than usual, and Nicolas didn’t even bother to find another place to stay. He ended up falling asleep right on the back steps of campus. After a restless night of tossing and turning, he was awoken with a nudge to his side.

“You high as a kite, man?”

Blinking through hazy eyes into the early morning light, Nic could barely make out a figure looming above him.

“Well?” The voice spoke again, this time unmistakably female. “Cause all I have is coffee.” She reached down and handed him a white cup, hot to the touch. It smelled of chocolate and blackberries. He sat up, his head spinning, and refused to take the drink.

“Oh come on. You look frozen,” she said.

“I don’t want your charity.”

“Well, I’m not offering. I’m forcing you to take it.” She shoved it at him again, and this time, Nicolas didn’t say no. He took a sip. It was terribly sweet, and it burned his throat as he swallowed. “That’s terrible.”

“Thank you, I made it myself.” Her voice oozed with dripping sarcasm. “You’re new here. I’ve seen you around. Except, you’re terribly intimidating, which is why no one will talk to you. You should probably work on that. It’s not the friendliest approach. You know, all that silent brooding.”

“I don’t need your advice.”

“Again, I’m not offering. What’s your name?”

He sat in silence.

“Oh come on! Fine, I’m not leaving until you tell me.” She shook out her long brown locks, and scratched her forehead. Nicolas gave her a quick up and down and decided she was not a rich kid daddy’s girl. The clothes she wore were tattered and rebellious, all browns and greys. The ends of her hair were dyed sea foam green but her eyes were her most striking feature; large and deep brown, nearly black. He figured she was a scholarship kid, just like him.

“My name is Nicolas Enjolras.”

“I’m Eponine.”

They didn’t shake hands. They didn’t say “nice to meet you”. Nicolas lacked the art of every day conversation. Put him in front of a crowd that he needed to rally support from, and he could woo you with words like a god. But making real friends was something he had literally zero experience with.

“Well,” Eponine broke in, “You usually sleep on the stairs?”

“I lost track of time. I was studying.”

“You’re a terrible liar. You don’t stay in the dorms?”

“No.”

“Okay…so you have family in the city?”

“No.”

Eponine started to put the pieces together. “You need somewhere to stay.”

Enjolras, in a million years, would never admit to needing help. So again, he resorted to his favorite tactic: silence.

“I know of a place,” Eponine went on. “It’s a house several blocks from campus. A bunch of the boys live there. They split the rent among themselves so it’s not so expensive. It’s a shitty excuse of a house, but it’s cheaper than staying on campus, better than the dorms. You should go see them. I know they have room for another person, and they’d never turn away someone who needs help.”

“I’d hate to impose.”

“You’re not. You’d pay your share, do your part. Here,” Eponine pulled out a notebook from the bag slung across her shoulders, and wrote an address on a slip of paper. “Ask for Combferre, he’s kind of head of the household. Just be forthright with them. They’re great guys.”

“You know Combferre?” Combferre was in one of his classes. He was a brilliant speaker, and Enjolras rather fancied his apparent intelligence. 

“I know them all.” And she turned away for a second, a shadow falling across her face. “Just, do one thing for me? Don’t tell them I sent you.”

Enjolras didn’t protest. For whatever reason she had he might not know, but he did understand what it was to have secrets. He stood up, took the slip from her hand, and turned to go.

“No need to say thank you!” Eponine yelled after him. Nic heard her mutter under her breath an added curse of, “Why do I trust people so I easily? I probably sent them a serial killer…” If Nicolas was capable of feeling guilty, now would have been a great time, but he didn’t. So he walked on.

The house, just as Eponine had said, was several blocks away - about 3 miles, he guessed - on the corner of W 83rd and Avery. It looked like it was about to crumble to the ground, the paint was peeling, and the windows were warped. However, it didn’t look trashed. There was no garbage in the yard, no beat up truck in the drive way. No car at all actually, just several bikes which were lined up neatly along the side of the house. It was two stories tall, a puke like green color, with an obnoxious yellow front door. By far the most unusual things were the sad looking flowers planted in pots around the front porch. They looked half dead while still managing to be semi cheerful. Nicolas found it repulsive. The obsessive, asymmetrical piles of garbage stacked to his right were also rather disturbing. Someone here was clearly OCD.

He climbed the steps, took a quick shallow breath, and knocked. After a few minutes of silence, he repeated the action. It took several knocks before someone came stumbling to the front door, unlocking what sounded like twelve deadbolts before opening the door with a pathetic creak.

“Yes?” a soft, timid voice said. He peeked out through the crack in the door like a recluse. Did he get the wrong house, Nicolas wondered.

“I’m here to see Combferre?”

“Oh. He’s not here at the moment.”

“I see.”

The two stared each other down.

“You can come back later,” the boy behind the door said.

“Actually, I’ll wait, if you don’t mind,” Nic decided. It wasn’t a question either.

The boy realized this and nodded, shutting the door. Nicolas then proceeded to settle himself down on the steps and wait. Not two minutes went by before he heard the door open behind him and the same small voice greeted his ears. “You’re going to catch a cold if you stay outside.”

“Actually, being in the cold doesn’t give you a cold.”

Silence.

“Well you could get sunburned.”

“The sun isn’t even out.”

“You can get sunburned at any time of the day from UV rays in the atmosphere.”

Silence.

“Why don’t you come inside?” The boy offered, holding the door open a little wider. Nicolas figured, why not, since this was hopefully the place he would be staying, he might as well get a look around before deciding. He stood up and stepped inside, the door shutting behind him. He then got to take a proper look at his “host”. The kid was maybe 20, small but not short, with shiny, bluntly cut, black hair. He was a little bit hunched over, as if he was always prepared to jump from something, and he wore orange fuzzy socks and a burgundy turtle neck. He held a box of tissues in one hand, and a portable size bottle of handsanitizer was hooked through the belt loop of his pants. “I’m Joly. What did you say your name was?”

“Nicolas Enjolras.”

“Huh. Never heard of you. Do you go to the ABC?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. Never seen you before.” He led them further inside the house. “Sorry about Combferre, he’s out on Saturdays till 8. He runs with Courfeyrac. They should be back in a bit. It’s quiet because none of the boys get up this early on a weekend. You won’t see anyone else till at least eleven. Me, I’m just up because I can’t sleep. I’ve got a cold.”

Enjolras didn’t need to supply any words to the conversation; Joly kept it going all by himself. As he talked and talked, Nic took the time to take in his surroundings. Like the outside, the place was falling apart, but it was not messy. Everything was relatively neat and in its place, which was incredibly surprising considering it was pretty much a fraternity house. There was a heap of blankets on the couch and a mass of wadded up tissues around it. Joly's spot, apparently. There were hard wood floors throughout but mismatched rugs every so often. A fireplace with real wood showed the dying embers of a late fire. Two chairs faced it directly, a cat curled in one. Nicolas reached to pet it. It hissed at him.

“That’s Grantaire's cat,” Joly filled in. “Don’t touch her. She hates everyone but R.”

“How many of you live here?” Nicolas had heard four names by now, and it wasn’t the largest looking building.

“Nine.”

Enjolras tripped over a chair leg.

Joly went on undisturbed. “There’s me, Combferre and Courfeyrac, R, Jehan, Bahorel, Feuilly, Bossuet, and Marius.”

“But…where do you all _fit_?”

“I sleep on the couch, Combferre and Feuilly share one room, Marius and Courfeyrac are in another upstairs, and across the hall from them are Jehan, Bossuet, and Bahorel. Grantaire has the other bedroom downstairs to himself.”

“I…see. I don’t suppose there’s much more room.”

“Depends. R has room but he won’t share, and Combferre doesn’t make him.”

Enjolras wondered if he’d be sleeping in a chair, or if this "R" would suck it and let him have a bed.

Just as Joly finished showing Nic around the kitchen, the front door opened with a gust of wind and in blew a flustered looking young man with short brown hair and wire rimmed glasses.

“Where’s Courf?” Joly asked.

“Left him in the dust. He’ll catch up. The point of a run is to get exercise but that has yet to click in his mind.” The man Nic now realized as Combferre stepped forward, removing his running jacket and hanging it on a hook by the door. “Who’s this?”

“My name is Nicolas Enjolras.”

“Yes? Have we met?”

“No, although you're in my Philosophy class. I was sent here. I’m looking for a place to stay. I go to the ABC.”

Combferre looked as unsurprised as one could for having a stranger show up at your door asking to room with you. He kept his cool incredibly well, in such a way that Enjolras admired it; as much as he was capable of admiring, of course.

“The ABC! What’s your major?” Combferre questioned.

“Political and Foreign Relations.”

A whistle signified the presence of another person. “Impressive,” the voice said, appearing in the door way. There was a spark in the young man’s eyes, and a lightness to his step. He was cheery at the outset and had a strangely warming presence.

“This is Courfeyrac,” Combferre informed him. “Don’t pay attention to anything he says.” Combferre let a smile creep past his lips, despite his determination not to show it.

“Nonsense, I’m the most intelligent of the group, obviously,” Courfeyrac held out his hand, but Nic did not embrace it.

Combferre noticed this and let his demeanor regain its stern composure. “The rent is one hundred and twelve dollars a month, and of course there is your share of the chores and you’ll have to take on a rotating schedule of who provides meals.”

“Of course,” Nicolas nodded. “That’s perfectly understandable.”

Courfeyrac tilted his head to the side. “Who sent you? I mean, we don’t just announce to anyone that they can room with us. It must have been a mutual acquaintance?”

Nic didn’t hesitate before saying, “they wished to remain anonymous, for the time being.”

Combferre and Courfeyrac shared a few whispered phrases and meaning looks before Combferre turned back to Nic with, “Well I don’t see why you couldn’t stay. At least for a trial period, to see how you fit in with the other boys.”

Courfeyrac gave a little excited clap of his hands and said, “Well, that settles it, Enj!”

“What did you call me?” Nicolas looked confused.

“Uh, Enj? Is that alright?” Courfeyrac asked. “It’s better than Nicolas. It sounds too foreboding. I don’t know about you but you look more like an Enjolras, not a Nicolas.”

And with that, Nicolas was no longer Nic. He was Enj.  

“I’ll show you to your room…uh, where should we put him, Combferre?”

“Eh, he can stay with R.”

“But he’ll hate that!” Courfeyrac looked slightly horrified.

“Exactly.”

Enj watched the two and their exchange, and he became undeniably uncomfortable with the idea of rooming with someone who would want nothing to do with him.

“If it’s too much of a problem, I can sleep on the couch.”

“Oh no, that’s my spot!” Joly piped up, signaling his forgotten presence to the rest of them.

“Grantaire can deal with it,” Ferre shrugged. “He’s got one of the biggest rooms all to himself. It’s just cluttered with junk.”

Courfeyrac laughed. It was a beautiful laugh. “Don’t let him hear you call it that! ‘My art isn’t junk!!’”

Combferre snorted at Courf's impression. “Well, we’ll see. He’ll be up soon enough.”

And as Combferre led him down the hall, Enj couldn’t help but be a smidgen curious about this Grantaire, and what sort of problems would follow from their being thrown together in such an unusual way.

One things was certain; there was bound to be conflict.


	3. Week 44, Day 305 of the Year 2199

Enj didn’t feel like waiting around for everyone else to wake up and discover a stranger in their home. Like most days when his mind was feeling muddled with unnecessary confusion, he went for a walk. Since he had only been in New York for about three weeks, he didn’t know his way around hardly at all. He turned onto a new block when he felt the direction pulling him, without any concern for how he’d find his way back.  The sky was grey, it was always grey, perhaps it was the smog, and a crisp autumn breeze wafted through the air. It pleasant, such a contrast to the hot, dry coastline of the west. He’d heard of course that the winter’s here were brutal. He looked forward to it. Experience the pain would be a way to assure himself that he still felt anything at all. 

The walk was a good enough way to clear his head, and eventually, when he started to feel a bit better, he turned around and headed back for the house, where hopefully Combferre would have explained to everyone else what was going on; that he would be staying with them. Enjolras thought for a moment that if he lived in a minuscule house with eight other people, and some nobody came barging in asking to stay, he wouldn’t be too happy. In fact, he’d be pissed as hell. This thought caused a lump in his throat, as he walked up the steps, ready to reach for the door knob, but something stopped him. It was the sound of voices coming through an open window to his right.

“Oh hell that’s what you think!” An angry, slurred voice yelled. “It’s not just your decision, it’s all of ours. At least, it should be!”

“It’s technically his house. His name is on the lease.” This was the sound of Joly, Enj recognized. “You’re just a tenant, technically.”

“Shut up, Joly.” Another new voice, followed by yet another with, “I don’t think it’s a big deal. As long as he pays and does his share and stays the hell out of our business, I don’t care one way or another.”

“Of course you don’t care, Jehan. He’s not sharing _your_ room.” So that was Grantaire. Enj felt his blood begin to boil. Who was this ass, and why was he being so negative? He hadn’t even met him yet! Enjolras reached for the door and flung it open with a bang against the inside wall. “When I meet this son of a b-“

The atmosphere grew instantly silent, cutting off the rest of R's profanities. All the boys had their wide eyes fixed on Enj as he stood in the doorway, Combferre especially flushed with a deep scarlet of embarrassment. Grantaire had his back to Enj, and when he realized who was behind him, he whipped around, a deep scowl melting into dumb-founded gaze.

I suppose now would be a good time to mention an important detail I have left out thus far. Nicolas Enjolras was…attractive. He knew it, yet he didn’t manipulate it. He had shoulder length blonde hair, cascading about his head in perfectly angelic curls. He was tall, though not extremely, and well built; strong arms and a lean figure. He stood with his shoulders back, head cocked to the side, chin up, in an arrogant fashion, hands in his trouser pockets. Apparently, as he was told later, this was endearing to most people he met.

Enj kept his eyes locked only on R, ignoring everyone else, even the boys he was curious to glance at but had not met yet. He crossed his arms over his chest, and spoke directly to the young man in front of him.  “What was that about my being a son of a bitch?” He gazed Grantaire up and down; he was short and round, worn out clothes misfitting his body. Dark hair in a messy mop, skin tan and freckled. He was generally...ugly. 

Grantaire looked horrified, as he should, and hung his head. He tried to speak, his words stammered and messy. “Oh shut up,” Enj scoffed. “I won’t stay here if you don’t want me to. I won’t stay anywhere I’m not welcome.” Enj glanced up at Combferre who was standing behind R, a concerned Courfeyrac at his shoulder. “I’ve had enough doors shut in my face. I’m used to it by now.”

None of the boys spoke. They seemed to be struck with shame, not for themselves, but for R, who simply spoke out at the wrong moment. Enjolras would never admit it, but he almost felt a tinge of respect for Grantaire, for speaking his mind, even if it was at the worst possible time to do so.

“Hey! Enj, listen,” Ferre grabbed his arm and pulled him aside, stepping passed R. He whispered, “This isn’t about anyone else. It’s not about you. It’s Grantaire, really. He’s like this with everyone he meets. We’re just eight lucky guys he let in, you know? You could be one, too, if you just don’t let him get to you. He’s always like this.”

Enjolras thought about it for a second. Just because Grantaire always acted like this didn’t mean it would be any easier to bear his scorn.

“Hey, Ferre.” Just the sound of Grantaire's voice made Enj cringe a little. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

The two walked into the kitchen and shut the swinging butler’s door, leaving the rest of the boys in awkward silence. Joly tried to fix things as best as his little self could with a few introductions. Enj nodded to each as he committed their names to memory. The boys laughed relating how Bossuet had the worst luck of anyone they’d ever known. Jehan had hideous fashion sense, although his skill with poetry made up for it, apparently. Bahorel came home at least twice a week with evidence of yet another fist fight, and Joly tended to them with great skill and care, but also with utter horror at possible risks such as infection and puss. A hypochondriac doctor; they all tackled Joly with a group hug, making him laugh and smile uneasily.  Courfeyrac was apparently a “ladies man”, and Feuilly…well, he had a weird fetish for fans. “I can’t stop collecting them!” he announced proudly.

“Where’s the other one of you?” Enj asked.

“The other?” Jehan repeated.

“I only counted eight of you.”

“Oh. You mean Marius,” Bossuet rolled his eyes. “He hasn’t been around much lately.”

“Yeah,” Courf wiggled his eyebrows. “We think he’s up to something. There are only two possibilities. He’s dabbling in the dark arts or…”

The chorus of boys shouted together, “He’s in LOVE!” Their school girl like giggles echoed through the house. Enj felt uncomfortable.

“Marius will never fall in love,” Jehan stated. “His head is so full of school and work, he can’t possibly make time for a girl. And yet, he’s gone so often…”

“We’re still speculating,” Courfeyrac shrugged. “It has yet to be confirmed.” They all shared smiles and nudges and inside jokes. Enjolras, for the first time in forever, felt jealous. 

Suddenly, interrupting their camaraderie, Combferre and Grantaire returned from the kitchen. Ferre stepped forward, something glimmering in his palm. It was a key. He held it in front of Enj. “It’s yours, if you want it,” he beamed.

Enjolras looked around, at the boys and their hopeful faces, at Combferre and his strong, purposeful presence, and at R. Grantaire, who he felt such disdain for, who had bashed him before even getting to know him. These boys, who seemed really sincere and kind; could he put up with one annoying presence, for the rest of their sakes?

...

“Thank you, I’ll stay, if you’ll have me.”

A chorus of cheers.

 

 

 

Grantaire ran out the back door, crashing into the alley behind their house. He sank against the back of the fence, his face in the palm of his hands. He was a fool. He couldn’t believe the things he had said. His heart was beating as fast as a race horse, he could barely breath. All he could play on repeat in his mind was Enjolras’ face, his eyes staring straight at him.

Enjolras was the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on. His eyes, his hair, his body, through all the hard disdain, there was an undeniable beauty.  All Grantaire could say through his face full of tears was, “No, no, no, no...not again dear God…

…don’t let me fall in love again.”

 


End file.
